


Hold It Tightly, It Hurts to Let Go

by 27dis



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Light Angst, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dis/pseuds/27dis
Summary: Geralt’s first memory about Jaskier was not when they first “met” at that tavern in Posada, no. The witcher had met him before.He met the little human when he was still a child, his head only coming up to Geralt’s thighs, who never even touched a lute, and still used the name Julian.Long after the bard was gone, Geralt grasped the memory tightly. Not willing to let it go.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 132
Collections: Geraskier Ship Week 2020





	Hold It Tightly, It Hurts to Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> For Geraskier Ship Week 2020 day 7: memory.

Geralt’s first memory about Jaskier was not when they first “met” at that tavern in Posada, no. The witcher had met him before.

He met the little human when he was still a child, his head only coming up to Geralt’s thighs, who never even touched a lute, and still used the name Julian.

The kid ran into him accidentally, in a flower field near the town side, but Julian’s reaction was not what the witcher had expected. Geralt had expected for the child to cry, or to stammer and ran into his mother’s arms.

Julian did neither of those things.

Instead, he stared at Geralt in wonder and amazement.

“Sir, I love your hair! And your eyes!” Julian exclaimed, his eyes locked into his features, taking them in wonder. He didn’t back off or ran away, the kid did the opposite and Geralt found himself kneeling to match Julian’s height.

“Ohh! They are so pretty!” Julian stared right into Geralt’s eyes, smiling bright. “It’s, um, white? Silver? Orange?”

“It’s amber,” Geralt grunted, trying not to sound threatening to the little child. His usual slow beating heart was probably faster than a human’s now. He was nervous, Geralt realized. He was never nervous for a long time.

Well it wasn’t everyday that a child talked to him.

“Amber! That sounds pretty too,” Julian exclaimed, seemed happy to learn a new thing. “Are you a knight, sir? Your swords look…”

“Threatening?” Geralt guessed.

“Thre—? I don’t know that word, but it sounds horrible. No! They look cool,” the child exclaimed again. “Can I touch it?”

 _They are not pets_ , Geralt thought, but he smiled anyway.

“No, it’s too sharp. It can hurt you.”

Julian pouted a bit. “I’m a big boy! I won’t get hurt.”

“You are a child and yes, you can,” Geralt sighed. “Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

“They are meeting with Uncle! I’m supposed to wait near the fountain, but I ran here.” Julian turned around to gesture at the flowers around them. “They are pretty, right?”

Geralt hummed. Just how irresponsible of his parents to let their little child lost in this town? Julian could get worse that lost in a flower field. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, soon to be a Viscount,” Julian answered, giving the witcher a little dramatic bow when he turned to him again. Ah, a noble. That made sense. “What is yours, sir?”

“Hmm, Geralt.”

“Geralt what?” the child asked. “No last name?”

“Geralt … of Rivia.”

Julian seemed to be happy with the answer enough.

“Hmm, you can get lost here,” Geralt continued, glancing to their right and left. “Do you want me to get you to the fountain again? Your parents might be searching for you.”

“You can?” Julian asked, beaming. “Thank you, kind sir!”

Geralt couldn’t fight the smile that was building up on his mouth. So he stood up again and hold out a hand to Jaskier.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Geralt asked.

“Nope. No need, sir. I’m a big boy!”

Geralt snorted. “Sure, you are, kid.”

When Julian finally got into the fountain, safe and happy—thankfully his parents hadn’t finished their job—, Geralt bid his goodbye. Julian gave him such a big hug with those tiny hands of his.

“Maybe I can see you again? When I’m old enough to travel?” Julian asked him with hopeful eyes. He looked so defeated Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

“Hmm, what do you want to be, Julian?” The child turned happy in a second when Geralt asked that.

“A travelling bard!” he answered. “I want to learn the lute someday. But my pa and ma said no. At least for now.” Julian pouted again at the end of his sentence.

“I’m … sure you’ll be a great one,” Geralt blurted out in an attempt to cheer up the kid.

Julian beamed at him again. “Thank you, sir!”

The child probably had thanked him more than all the villagers he had saved from monsters combined. 

Geralt hummed, gave the kid a pat on his hair when he sat on the fountain side—it’s not a fountain, really—, and bid his final goodbye.

When the witcher saw the bard, singing shitty songs in that tavern, Geralt knew that was Julian—his soft looking hair and his big blue eyes didn’t change—, the little kid who has a dream to become a bard someday, now walking alongside of him and Roach, singing a song about Geralt.

Geralt was smitten by that particular human really quick.

If Julian was a curious fool, Jaskier was a sweetheart. 

Jaskier was a bard, a human that would absolutely challenged any person that speak badly of Geralt, a witcher. He was the only one that saw Geralt as a person. He was the only one Geralt let to be around him when his guard was down. He was the only one Geralt loved to be around. He was the only one Geralt loved.

That stupid bard grew on his heart and Geralt wasn’t intending on letting it go.

* * *

  
  


Geralt’s last memory of Jaskier was…

Honestly, he didn’t know.

After the bard died, everything reminded him of Jaskier. Everything reminded him of his time together with the bard.

The world felt dull. The food didn’t taste that good. The bed didn’t feel soft. The contracts turned exhausting. 

He avoided Lettenhove. To be near to where Jaskier last breath happened was terrifying for him. He avoided civilization. To be in a noisy environment yet feeling empty was horrifying.

But Jaskier wanted him to live.

So Geralt lived on.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It was weird to see a witcher in this town. This far in the coast.

The witcher didn’t do anything though. He just wandered around, looking like he was searching for something. The white haired witcher didn’t take a contract or even look for one. He kept the interaction between them minimum and just walked around.

“I’ll talk to him,” Della said, making the rest of the patron in that tavern turned to look at her. “We have to find out what he wants before something bad happens.”

“Della, that’s dangerous,” one of the barmaid there hissed. “The rumors.”

“I know.” Della was already making her way to the door. “And that’s exactly why I want to find out.”

She was already walking towards the witcher sitting on a rock across the street from the tavern, feeding his house some treats, it looked like. Della didn’t have to turn around to see the patrons were staring at the two of them in anticipation.

The witcher noticed her, sparing her a glance, and Della tried to compose herself. He didn’t say anything or even made a move towards her. So Della took that as an invitation to walk closer to him.

“Say, Mister Witcher,” she started, noticing how the witcher was so gentle towards his horse, petting her hair and giving her treats gently, “may I ask what is your business here, truly? Because we are very curious.”

The witcher hummed. “I can see that.” And for a second, Della swore he could see his mouth twitched up. She didn’t know if it was a good or a bad sign.

“So…?” Della asked again. But the witcher didn’t answer. He glanced at Della again, then at the tavern, before turning back to his horse, going to his pack.

Della continued to stare at him, watching his every move. If the witcher was uncomfortable by it, he didn’t say anything, didn’t even turned around to see Della again. So she stared.

Then she started noticing some things.

The witcher’s pack was embroidered on the side. It was what Della guessed was buttercups. Then Della saw another buttercup charm on his armor, his swords, on his bag too. And somehow she knew it wasn’t the witcher who did them.

“You like buttercups?” Della asked before she could stop herself. The witcher looked startled by her question, but he didn’t do anything threatening either, so Della continued. “They look pretty.”

The witcher stared at the buttercups. Was that… Was that a sad expression on his face? Della turned confused now. 

“They are,” the witcher eventually said, his free hand going through his horse’s hair. He finally turned to see Della properly and looked like he was about to say something before he stopped himself.

Now. That was certainly unacceptable.

“Do you did them?” Della asked, playing dumb to get a reaction from the witcher.

“No,” he said, now looking sad again. “My … bard did.”

“Your bard?” _That’s new_ , Della thought,

“He loved buttercups,” the witcher elaborated. Not in the way Della asked, but _still_.

 _Loved_ , Della thought. _His bard is already dead_.

Della wanted to ask if that was why he looked sad when he saw the buttercups. Della wanted to ask if their relationship was more than a witcher and a bard. Della wanted to ask if that was why the witcher kept his things maintained.

Somehow she felt like she already knew the answer.

“So you keep them, huh…” Della was not really asking, but she was saying a fact. Something she had learned from this witcher.

“I do,” he said, looking at the buttercups with a mix of adoration and sadness.

Della stared at him for a long time, considering her next words.

“That didn’t answer the question why you are here though,” she said carefully.

The witcher turned to stare at the coast far ahead. The sadness in his eyes returned again.

“He always wanted to,” he answered. And Della understood really. She understood that the witcher was dragging anything he had about this bard. She understood how the witcher was clinging on every memory he had about him.

Then the witcher suddenly gave him a weak smile and packed up his things.

“I won’t stay long,” he said again. And Della couldn’t do anything to tell him not to. Knew that the memories were getting too much and that he wanted to get out from there.

So she stood there, staring at the witcher who was getting smaller and smaller from her view, before she went back to the tavern and told them everything she knew.

And when the witcher came back at the same time the next year, the patrons didn’t look at him suspiciously, didn’t even comment anything about him in general. They let the witcher mourned and went every year.

The white haired witcher wasn’t always alone. Sometime he was with a girl with white hair too. Sometime he was with another witcher, the one with a scar on his left side of his face, or the one with shorter hair.

As time went by, the sadness in his eyes turned into adjustment, then to hope, then to acceptance.

But even the blind could see the love pouring from the white haired witcher.

And they let him be.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look who can't resist to write some angst. Again. :)
> 
> Feel free to comment your feedback!!
> 
> twitter - [@27dis_](https://twitter.com/27dis_)  
> pillowfort - [@27dis](https://www.pillowfort.social/27dis)


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